Loss
by dantesdarkqueen
Summary: She's lost so much already, and still managed to hold on. But could a loss nobody saw coming destroy what spirit she has left? F!Hawke/Fenris
1. Good News, Bad Timing

**Summary: **She's lost so much already. But could this be the last straw? F!Hawke/Fenris

**Disclaimer: **Phaedra is all mine, but I have nothing else.

**Queen's Quornor: **I don't know if this will be up to my usual standards, since it has been more than six months since I last wrote ANYTHING related to fantasy or fan-fiction, but at least I am writing again. I've really missed this particular saddle. This is my first Dragon Age fic, but if my various jotted notes are any indicator I doubt this'll be the last.

Good News, Bad Timing

"You're pregnant."

"_What?_"

Anders folded his arms across his chest, giving his friend a level look. "You honestly had no idea?"

Phaedra glared at him through slitted eyes. "Excuse me for losing track of my menses. I figured settling this thing with the qunari was more important than the last time I bled."

"How could you have forgotten? Didn't your mother tell you what can happen after a quick romp in the sheets?" He immediately regretted his words as the young woman's acid green eyes filled with tears. She was still hurting from her mother's murder, two weeks past.

The younger mage scrubbed at her eyes, not letting Anders see her cry. "It figures. I come to you because my stomach won't stop rolling, and you tell me I'm with child. As if I didn't have enough to worry about as it is." She brushed her snowy hair behind her shoulders, a gesture he knew meant she was trying to calm herself. "You'd think a mage, of all people, would know the signs..."

"You've had a lot on your mind," Anders soothed, sitting beside her on the examination table. His initial interest in her had changed over time, so he now saw himself more as an older brother rather than a potential lover. Phaedra needed a friendly confidante, particularly since Carver was too busy with his templar duties and old resentments. Their little group was the closest thing to a family she had now.

She laughed bitterly. "That's an understatement. Sometimes I think this entire city would fall apart if I wasn't here."

"Let me guess. Fenris is the father?" he asked. When she nodded, he sighed. "I suppose there's even less chance that he knows what's going on."

"He hasn't seen me since Mother was cremated," she admitted. "He came by to see if I was all right, and left after I cried myself to sleep. He's been coming to terms with some things himself."

"You both were virgins, weren't you?"

"Anders!"

He held up his hands, deflecting her sudden wrath. "I was about to say that would explain the current situation. My first time, it didn't cross my mind to pull out before it was too late. Thank the Maker that teacher didn't get pregnant, or I would have been made Tranquil faster than you can say 'damn templars'." He rubbed her back in comforting circles as she put her head in her hands. Phaedra didn't get embarrassed very easily, so he doubted the gesture was meant to hide any emotional discomfort. "You were just too excited to think about protecting yourself. It happens."

Phaedra ran her fingers through her hair, still hiding her face. "I can't tell Fenris; he's got enough to worry about."

"And you don't?" Anders frowned, knowing she wasn't going to like what he was about to suggest. He never liked this option, either. "Phaedra, if you aren't ready for this, I can mix something up for you. You don't have to be a mother just yet."

The look he received from the younger mage was answer enough. "I'll terminate this pregnancy the day Isabella joins the Chantry."

"You know he'll find out, anyway. This isn't the sort of thing that stays hidden forever."

She sighed. "I'll tell him when I'm ready. When _he's_ ready. Just...don't tell the others. Please?" She grabbed his hands with surprising strength, capturing his brown eyes within her green ones. "The last thing I need is to be left behind because of this. I'm the diplomatic one."

"Fenris can handle talking to the Arishok," Anders pointed out.

"He knows their language and their ways, that's true. But he doesn't have any pull with the Powers That Be, so his words wouldn't carry more than a certain weight. Besides, I'm the peacekeeper in the group." Anders had to admit, she had a point. Were it not for Phaedra's skillful deflections from touchy subjects, he and the former slave would have torn each other to pieces long ago.

"You won't begin to show for a few months yet," he consoled. "Perhaps by then the two of you will have solved whatever is bothering him and gotten back together."

"I doubt it," she muttered. "He left because he said we were moving too fast, among other things. It took him three years to admit his attraction to me; this baby will be grown before he comes back!"

Anders looked at his miserable friend, and had to surpress the urge to find Fenris and drag him back to Phaedra by his pointy ear. Couldn't the man see how much she needed him? How much she cared?

"Don't tell him, Anders. Or any of them. Please."

He heaved a sigh of his own. "You have my word, unless I deem it necessary for them to know." Anders rose from the table and went to his potions box. "I'll give you something for the nausea, but you'll have to watch your diet, and no drinking. Whiskey isn't good for anyone, especially not unborn children."

"Thanks, Anders. This really means a lot," she told him, getting to her feet with one hand on her stomach.

"Think nothing of it," he replied, keeping his misgivings to himself.


	2. Everything Falls Apart

**Summary: **She's lost so much already. But could this be the last straw? F!Hawke/Fenris

**Disclaimer: **Phaedra is all mine, but I have nothing else.

**Queen's Quornor: **Some time has passed between the first chapter and this one, and Phaedra is roughly two-and-a-half months along now. But wait! Here comes the storm...

Everything Falls Apart

Phaedra had long been convinced that the Maker enjoyed an all-too-present sense of humor, and at times she felt like his favorite fool. She was an apostate in a city particularly harsh towards mages, her brother was a templar, and most every drunk in the Free Marches had pegged her as the ideal woman for their debauched revelries. On top of that, she had fallen head-over-heels for an escaped slave who despised mages above all else. And now she was pregnant with the aforementioned's child, at a time when she had rejected her affections and the city was depending on her to keep a tenuous peace with frustrated qunari.

Yes, the Maker did seem to like picking on her.

She snuck a quick peek at Fenris as he paused by her side, smothering the usual rush of emotion with a reminder of their current situation. Negociations had failed abyssmally in their final visit to the Arishok, and qunari now stormed the streets of Kirkwall, cutting down all resistance in a riot too precise to be spontaneous. They needed to get to the Keep, where the enemy was bringing all the nobles they could find.

"You gotta give them one thing: they never do anything half-assed," Varric grumbled, keeping his voice low.

"Qunari plan for every eventuality in the face of a threat," Fenris explained. "They always have a contingency plan in case things go wrong."

"If this is a contingency, I'm glad they kept to Plan A for so long." Phaedra gripped her staff with both hands, forcing herself to be calm. Magic wouldn't work if she panicked.

Aveline frowned. "This would not have happened, if that whore wasn't so selfish."

"You can't blame her for being scared. Her life depended on that book."

"She may have damned the entire city!" the guard-captain snapped.

"Isabella will come back. She's a good person, even if she is a thief," Merril protested.

Phaedra held up a hand, forestalling Aveline's retort. "We need to focus on saving Kirkwall right now, not pointing fingers. If we can't save the city, at least rescue the people. Suggestions?"

"Perhaps we should divide our group, to cover as much ground as possible," Anders suggested. "It will make us a little more vulnerable, but we're capable enough."

"The qunari won't kill the townsfolk without cause. They'll cut down anyone with weapons, and capture anyone of real influence," Fenris said, watching the street for hostile activity.

"And what will they do with them?" Merril asked, her eyes wide.

"They'll offer them a choice: accept the Qun, or die."

"All the more reason to save whomever we can," Phaedra cut in, flipping her hair behind her shoulders. "Anders' plan makes sense. Half of us will head to the Keep, and the other half will help the guardsmen here in Lowtown."

"You'll face the stiffest resistance there," the elf pointed out. "I'm coming with you."

"I will, too. People will need my healing spells." Anders gave Fenris a level look as he stepped to Phaedra's other side.

"My guardsmen can fight, but they'll need some organization. I'll stay here," Aveline stated, hefting her shield.

"I'm with Hawke," Varric muttered, stroking a hand along Bianca's stock.

"I suppose that leaves me with Aveline," Merril sighed.

"You sound like it's a bad thing," the redhead commented, sliding her green eyes Merril's way.

"Oh, I didn't mean it that way!" the blood mage stammered. "I just..."

"It's okay, Merril." Phaedra looked at her friends with a small frown. "This isn't exactly 'half', you know."

"You won't have much help in Hightown. This is as close to half as we can risk," Aveline pointed out. "Once Merril and I have found some guards, we'll be fine."

"Then let's get going. I doubt the nobles are all that thrilled with their mansions being stormed by a bunch of qunari," Varric hinted.

Phaedra pushed her moonlight hair behind her ears, then nodded with a short breath. Aveline and Merril took off for the depths of Lowtown, leaving the rest of them to trot for the Keep.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

This was one of the times when Phaedra was grateful for the magic singing in her blood. Casting spells from the back meant her pregnancy was in less danger than if she was swinging a blade at Fenris' side. It made her a target, but she usually destroyed anyone who got too close. Hers was probably the safest womb of any woman in Kirkwall tonight.

This was reiterated to her whenever the group came upon small pockets of qunari warriors, as her spells seemed especially potent now. Perhaps it was the emotion, the fear she felt for both her baby and its father. Perhaps it was her imagination. But she couldn't ever recall seeing a qunari's head explode when she used Mind Blast before.

Nobody else seemed to care how powerful her spells were tonight, so long as they were accurate. But she did notice Fenris giving her a curious look while she healed a particularly nasty gash along his side, after a group of sten had pounced upon them in the Hightown market.

"Is something wrong?"

"No." His jade eyes were carefully blank, an expression she knew he used when he wanted to hide his affection for her. "You merely look...radiant, moreso than usual. It is almost as if this all agrees with you."

"Trust me, it does not." She hid her smile. Pregnant women did have a sort of glow about them, and it appeared she was no exception. But he didn't need to know the cause of her seeming luminescence yet.

The elf watched her for a moment, then gave her that tiny smile reserved for her alone. "Whatever it is, I hope it continues. It is good to see you happy again, Hawke."

Phaedra glanced at the red scarf tied around his wrist, wondering if he could see her pulse jumping. This was hardly the time or place to tell him that she had her own memento of their night together.

"You'll probably see more of it, if we can solve this mess."

He grunted softly in acknowledgement, then stood and offered her his hand. "If anybody can, it's you. You're probably the only person in Kirkwall capable of saving us all."

"Flatterer," she couldn't resist saying.

His smile didn't deny his intent.


	3. Victory

**Summary: **She's lost so much already. But could this be the last straw? F!Hawke/Fenris

**Disclaimer: **Phaedra is all mine, but I have nothing else.

**Queen's Quornor: **So we'll get into the angst in the next chapter. But here's a little something to tide you over, a nice cliffhanger.

Victory...

Thanks to Orsino's distraction, Phaedra and her comrades were able to slip into the Viscount's Keep with minimal resistance. The young woman felt her heart sink upon seeing the many bodies piled about the entrance, but told herself to keep some hope - not all of the nobles were dead. These corpses were all guards.

Fenris joined her as they picked their way up the blood-washed stairs, and leaned close to her.

"You already have the Arishok's respect, Hawke," he breathed. She surpressed the urge to shiver at his proximity, his breath close enough to stir her hair from her ear. "That means you have the right to challenge him to a duel. Without their leader, the qunari will be free to return to Par Vollen."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not much of a fighter," she whispered. She could hear the Arishok's voice now, a booming litany of his views on Kirkwall and its elite.

"You are very good at keeping your distance. He will have no defense against your magic."

"I..." The words caught in her throat as she envisioned the horned behemoth charging towards her, intent on cutting her down. If she slipped, and let the Arishok get close, her baby would die as surely as she would. She cast a worried glance at her one-time lover, wishing she could tell him why she couldn't fight the Arishok.

His calm green eyes told her otherwise. He had utmost confidence in her and her abilities. Phaedra cursed softly - he knew she couldn't deny him anything.

"You don't play fair," she finally sighed.

"Against you, Hawke, fair play is pointless."

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The duel had begun, but it certainly had not commenced in the manner Phaedra had expected. Isabella had sauntered in with the Tome of Koslun, proving Merril's earlier prediction that she would return. However, the Arishok wanted the pirate as well, something Phaedra could not allow. True, Isabella had betrayed them, but now she was back. How could the mage simply hand her over to the qunari, when she was risking so much to do the right thing?

So now she faced the Arishok in single combat, with her friends, the nobles, and the qunari looking on.

Well, maybe it's not a duel, her mind whispered crazily, since technically it's two-on-one.

Then the Arishok charged, and the fight began.

Phaedra danced out of his way, hurling a ball of pure cold at him as he collided with the wall. If she didn't slow him down, she'd be a smear on the floor.

The ice was followed with a bolt of lightning, and then she was running, weaving between the room's columns in a mad attempt to keep some distance between her and those swinging blades.

Thus it continued, with Phaedra running for dear life in a small enclosed space and casting spells only when she dared. In a distant corner of her mind, she wondered if any of the great heroes of yore had ever been forced to run in circles in their own legendary duels. She couldn't be the most awe-inspiring figure at the moment.

But knowing Varric, the average citizen would probably believe she tore the Arishok's head off with her bare hands. _If _she survived.

She should have kept her mind on the fight. The Arishok, growing weaker and weaker with each spell, kicked into a charge just as she rounded a column.

Time seemed to slow as the giant came at her, and Phaedra couldn't dodge this time. She watched with detached interest as the Arishok's massive sword slid beneath her staff, plunging into her abdomen and scraping along her ribs and spine to pierce the back of her robes.

Then he lifted her high into the air, and the agony came on a wave of horrified terror.

"You have lost, Hawke," he panted, raising his axe with a trembling arm.

Phaedra thought of her baby, just beneath the blade impaling her torso.

"No, you dumb son of a bitch. No," she choked.

Grasping the blade with her hands, she forced herself closer to the Arishok, whose dark eyes flashed with surprise. She heard Fenris and Anders shout her name, but she only thought of one thing.

"You're dead."

She pulled her hands away so she fell against the sword's hilt, then called a tempest into his body.


	4. but at What Cost?

**Summary: **She's lost so much already. But could this be the last straw? F!Hawke/Fenris

**Disclaimer: **Phaedra is all mine, but I have nothing else.

**Queen's Quornor:** Feedback is nice, people... Oh, and I realize that Fenris' mind is wandering towards the end. I've noticed that when faced with potential loss, people tend to ramble in both thoughts and speech as a way of denying the inevitable. Considering what Hawke has come to mean to him at this point, as his first real friend (at the very least), I doubt he'd be any different. But he does have that little habit of tormenting himself when he feels responsible for something, so I've tried to put that in as well. He's not the most difficult character to speak through, but it is hard not to get too much into the emo side of his personality.

...but at What Cost?

Anders didn't wait for the meaty chunks of Arishok to stop raining before he ran to Phaedra's side, slipping a little in the blood. His breath caught when he realized the extent of the damage. The sword had cut higher into her torso as she had fallen to the floor, and now she lay curled on the red-stained marble, impaled but still clinging to life.

"Phaedra!" Fenris knelt on her other side, and for once the cold mask was nowhere to be seen; his terror was plain in the use of her given name, the ungaurded expression in his eyes.

"Get the sword out!" a nobleman called.

"She'll die if you do that!" Varric snapped. "Blondie, is there...?"

Anders was already casting a healing spell, praying it would work. He had mended smaller impalements before, but never anything like this. Phaedra would die if he didn't heal her now, and she might die later when they removed the sword.

Or she might die if the trauma caused a miscarriage.

He forced the sickening thought from his mind and concentrated on his dearest friend. Magic came at his behest, and he molded it into a second healing dweomer. Phaedra was still bleeding, and the sword remained lodged in her torso, but at least now she could be moved.

"Fenris, can you pick her up without moving the sword?" he asked. Toned though he was, there was no way he could lift both Phaedra and that blade.

The elf nodded tightly and gathered her into his arms, as gently as he could. Phaedra whimpered, and Anders felt his heart clench at the excruciation in the soft noise. Judging from the flash of contrition and worry that crossed Fenris' countenance, his had as well.

"Take her to the barracks. I'll need a bed to work on."

For once, Varric didn't make a crack about the nature of the mages' relationship. He merely did his best to keep the nobles back as Fenris took off for the barracks, the elf's gait long and smooth so as not to jar the blade hanging before his knees.

Isabella raced ahead to open various doors for them, her whiskey eyes glistening as she chewed her lower lip. Was she actually feeling guilty?

Phaedra suddenly convulsed in Fenris' arms, her acid green eyes open but unseeing. An agonized scream tore through her lips as blood gushed from between her legs, darkening her robes.

"Get her on a bed!" Anders ordered, knowing his worst fear had just become a reality.

Fenris carefully placed her on the nearest bed then stepped back, at a loss. His obvious worry and confusion should have pleased Anders, but there was no time to gloat. He began casting another spell, praying he could at least save Phaedra's life.

At some point, Varric gently ushered Fenris from the room and shut the door, leaving Anders to his desperate work.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Fenris sat on the stairs leading to the barracks, staring at his crusted hands. He'd had blood on them before, but this time it was different.

This was Phaedra's blood.

Aveline and Merril had come to the Keep a short while ago, and the Dalish had promptly slipped inside the makeshift clinic to see if Anders needed any help. Aveline was pacing the length of the barracks, pointedly ignoring Isabella, who stood in a corner with her arms crossed, staring at the floor. Varric sat with his back to the far wall, polishing Bianca with a cloth he kept on his belt. Nobody had said a word since Phaedra's ordeal had begun.

What was happening in there? his anguished mind wondered. Surely something was amiss; neither Anders nor Merril could lift a sword the size of the Arishok's, let alone pull it from their leader's stomach without futher damage. She must be very close to death if the two apostates hadn't asked him or Aveline to help remove the blade.

The idea of Phaedra dying made Fenris' entire gut knot so tight he couldn't breathe. He should rejoice over the demise of an apostate, but not if it was her. He had known for some time now that his emotions towards her were deeper than those of mere friends, and he could not bring himself to admit them, not after the way he had left her that night. Not after seeing the pain in those brilliant green eyes as he walked away from what they had shared. Losing her as a lover was bad enough, but at least she had not cast him aside as a friend.

To lose her entirely, however, like this...

Fenris' worries were distracted when the door opened and Merril stepped out. Her mossy eyes darted amongst their fire-lit comrades for a breath, then found him on the shadowed stairs. Fenris kept his mind carefully blank as the blood mage approached.

"Fenris, we need you."

"To help with the sword, I imagine."

"Well, yes." The Dalish hesitated. "There's more, but Anders will tell you later. Come."

What was Anders going to say to him? Fenris' mind swirled with possibilities as he followed the slighter female. Was Phaedra's condition worse than it seemed? Had her magic somehow contaminated the wound? Was she irreparably crippled?

Was Anders going to tell him to make his farewells?

Fenris fought to keep his face still when he saw his beloved laying on the bed. Though always pale, her porcelain complexion had taken on a grey hue and her face was drawn, her eyes sunken beneath errant locks of moonlight hair. She had been rolled fully onto her side, and both ends of the sword had been propped by pillows to keep it perfectly level within her body. To the worried elf, it presented a macabre image of care and consideration

Anders was carefully wiping sticky blood away from the spot where the sword vanished into their friend's gut, making the wound as visible as possible. The healer's brow was dotted with sweat, and his disheveled hair was streaked with crusty crimson where he had apparently run his fingers through it. He looked up at their approach.

"I've managed to stabilize her, but I can't do any further healing with her impaled like this. If I do, her vitals will be too close in proximity to risk moving the sword. It has to come out."

"But there's a chance that removing the sword could kill her anyway," Fenris murmured. He had seen it happen before, when Danarius' younger apprentice had fallen out a window onto a guardsman's spear. Hadriana had been Danarius' sole pupil following that incident because, once the plug of the spear had been removed, the boy had exsanguinated very quickly. How much more blood could Phaedra afford to lose?

"It's possible," Anders admitted, laying his bowl and stained rag aside. "But from what I can tell, the sword missed all of her arteries and most vital structures. If we are both quick enough, she should live."

"I've put her to sleep," Merril chimed in. "Hawke won't wake up until you're done."

"Well then." The healer selected a lyrium potion from his pack, popped the wax seal, and downed it with a quick shake of his head to clear the rush of tingles. "Shall we begin?"

Fenris stepped up to the bed and carefully grasped the sword's hilt. Anders spread his hands above her prone form, then nodded. With a deep breath, the elf took three long steps away from the bed, dragging the sword from his beloved's body as evenly as smoothly as he could.

The moment the tip scraped across the front pillow, Anders began casting. His hands filled with a bright blue glow and Fenris had to turn away, unable to watch the mage's triumph or failure. He only prayed the Maker would spare Phaedra. She was too important - to him, to everyone - to take just yet.

A relieved sigh turned his attention back to the mage, and his heart leapt when he realized the hideous cut was no more, and Phaedra's breathing remained even.

"Thank the Creators," Merril sighed.

Anders nodded. "Merril, could you leave us for a minute?"

"Of course." The Dalish scooted around the bed and out of the room, careful to shut the door behind her.

Fenris wondered what there was to discuss. Phaedra seemed to be all right now, and the qunari were leaving Kirkwall. If this was about Anders' disapproval of him and their mutual friend, he just wasn't in the mood for petty jealousy.

Wait. Was that sympathy in the abomination's eyes?

"This isn't going to be easy to explain, nor to hear," the other man began. "But you have a right to know, since it concerns you as much as Hawke."

Fenris tensed, waiting with little patience.

"Do you recall how sick she has been for the past two months?" At the elf's nod, Anders continued. "She thought it was an illness she picked up from the sewers, but asked me examine her, just to be certain. She is the better healer out of the two of us, but she wanted to know if she had missed something, since I'm better acquainted with sicknesses than she is. As it turns out, she overlooked something crucial." The mage's brown eyes met Fenris'. "The time of her last bleeding."

The elf merely waited, wondering what in the Void Anders was getting at.

"Sometimes, once is all it takes. You should know that your encounter with her had certain consequences. She was pregnant."

Before Fenris could say anything, Anders led his gaze to the crimson-stained sheets beneath Phaedra's hips and thighs. Dread pooled low and cold in his belly. "You said she _was_ pregnant. Isn't she still?" he slowly asked.

The abomination shook his head. "The trauma was too great. It was all I could do to keep her alive. I'm sorry."

Fenris wanted to collapse. He wanted to deny that this could be. He wanted to stitch the Arishok back together so he could crush the qunari's heart himself. Instead all he did was stand by the bed, staring down at Phaedra's wan face. "Why didn't she tell me?" he heard himself ask in the softest of tones.

"I advised her to. She said she would tell you when you were ready, that you needed time before anything could be done about your relationship. Hawke didn't want to burden you with this until you sorted through whatever was bothering you." The mage sighed and ran his fingers through his hair again, tearing a few more strands from the tie keeping it out of his face. "She was protecting you, as she always does. Sometimes I wish she wasn't so selfless."

She had kept her pregnancy a secret...for him? And he had been the one who suggested she fight the Arishok in single combat... Granted, he'd had no idea she was carrying his child, but could the miscarriage have been prevented somehow? Was this his fault?

Anders was looking at him, as though demanding a reply. But Fenris had none to give.

"Forgive me, but I have got to get some rest and she is stable for the time being." He had been so distracted, he hadn't noticed the way the mage was swaying on his feet. Anders must have been tending her longer than he thought. "Would you prefer to stay here, or should I get Merril?"

The elf shook his head vehemently. He wasn't leaving her alone with that blood mage, no matter how hurt she was. It was all he could tolerate to let Anders near her like this.

"If anything changes, let me know. I'll just be over here." Anders waved at an empty bed on the other side of the barracks. "Wake me up in a few hours, if you will. Preferably before any guards come wandering back to claim their beds."

Fenris paid him little mind as he stumbled over to the bed and settled in for his nap. He was too busy grappling with his responsibility in Phaedra's current condition.

Perhaps he could have fought in her stead, as her appointed champion. Qunari females did not fight, as it ran contrary to their role within the Qun. They were artisans, musicians, and mothers; their role centered upon the nurturing of life, and the males' revolved around death. Fenris had seen many qunari struggle with the concept of a woman fighting, as their minds could not fully comprehend why a female would wish to make war. Phaedra had been expecially puzzling, as a woman who was sarebaas and yet fought with her staff when pressed, instead of running away and letting the men defend her. Many of the Arishok's men had preferred to ignore her until the riot, because there was simply no place for such a female within the Qun. If she had made it known that she was with child, would the Arishok have allowed her to designate someone else to take her place in the duel?

No, he wouldn't, Fenris knew. Phaedra's appointment as 'basalit an' meant that she alone was worthy to fight. Her sex had been superceded by that title. If she was willing to endanger the life she carried by fighting, the qunari mindset would dictate that it be regarded as a weakness to be exploited. Knowledge of the child would only have hindered Phaedra that much more.

But surely there could have been something! his heart cried.

No, his mind argued. The child was doomed.

Fenris sat on the bed next to her, wishing he had known. It was his loss as well, and she hadn't told him. True, it had been to protect him, but he did have the right to know before this happened.

Much as he tried, however, he couldn't hate her for that. Phaedra had done so much to help him over the years, from killing for his safety to teaching him the mysteries of literacy. She had gone so far as to give him her most precious gift, the thing which should have gone to her husband.

That was one eventuality that tormented his dreams. Fenris knew Phaedra was a noble, and now she was probably going to be the sweetheart of Kirkwall, beloved by all the nobles for saving their sorry skins. Sooner or later, she was going to have to choose one of them. He had once overheard Leandra speaking with Bodahn about finding her daughter a suitable husband, and the very idea had almost driven him to his knees. Phaedra in another man's arms, submitting to someone who did not love her the way she had given herself to him, was a vision that always forced him awake at night, chilled with his own sweat. Elves could marry humans, he knew, but it always caused a scandal and certainly people of Phaedra's status could never join their lives to someone like him. She had reassured him that such things didn't matter to her, but Fenris continued to worry. The most he could expect from an ideal relationship with Lady Hawke was to become her secret lover, forever meeting her in darkness so as not to cause stress within her marriage.

That line of thought was chased away when he looked at the blood on the sheets, far more than he had seen on that night. He had hurt her then, and knowing that had only made his departure all the worse in his mind. But now all the guilt he had learned to live with was back, with an additional helping.

Not only had he broken her heart, he had left her with child.

And he hadn't even thought to put the pieces together when she was plagued by nausea, and she had been forced to leave her breast-binding at the estate because it pained her to wear it. He had noticed her erratic moods taking precedence within what was normally a controlled demeanor, but had written it off as grief for her murdered mother.

How had he been so blind?

A part of him wanted to leave permanently, to spare her any further pain. But he wasn't strong enough to do it. He had lost so much already, he couldn't lose Phaedra too. Not when he knew that he loved her.

Fenris thought of the saying Phaedra herself had told him, to explain her forceful remarks towards Aveline during the other woman's bungled attempts at courtship: 'sometimes one must be cruel to be kind'. He had used those words to console himself when he left her that night, forcing himself to keep walking away rather than run back to the woman he wanted more than anything. His fear of the lost memories had done less to keep him in his manor than the sense that it would be better if she found someone else to love, regardless of what seeing her with another would do to him.

Who was he kidding? There was no kindness for either of them in his actions.

Nor in hers, he realized. She had taken the same approach to her pregnancy, told herself to keep the child a secret until he was ready to accept the knowledge. She had probably tortured herself between wanting to tell him, and keeping her silence. She had been cruel to herself out of love of him.

Fenris felt wretched indeed, knowing that he had caused her such pain. He didn't deserve her. But he was too selfish, too much a coward, to walk away now. He couldn't bear the thought of living without her anymore.

He would be here when she came to, even if Anders insisted he leave. He wasn't going anywhere.


	5. Status

**Summary: **She's lost so much already. But could this be the last straw? F!Hawke/Fenris

**Disclaimer: **Phaedra is all mine, but I have nothing else.

**Queen's Quornor: **So now things follow a slightly more canon path than previously. I honestly think Isabella and Merril would treat one another this way. Isabella already acts as though Merril is the little sister she never had, or maybe the daughter. Also, I think Isabella might be a little jealous of Hawke's pregnancy if that came to pass; considering her words when you give her the second gift, I think it's entirely possible that everybody's favorite pirate wench is infertile. And while Carver acts like a total dick to his older sibling most of the time, I think when it comes right down to it that he does care. He just has that major inferiority complex going on.

Status

"She was _what?_"

"With child," Merril sobbed into the Rivaini's shoulder. "But she isn't anymore. That thing made her lose it."

"And she knew about this child?" Aveline asked increduously.

"Blondie knew," Varric interjected, his voice huskier than usual. "I dragged it out of him at the Hanged Man a few nights ago, after I finally managed to get him drunk. I wanted to know why Hawke has been so sick."

"So Hawke spends time with Fenris, he gets her pregnant, she doesn't tell him, and now she's lost the baby." Aveline massaged the bridge of her nose in long circles. "This is the cruelest way he could have found out. Maker, this isn't right."

"She wanted to protect him, Aveline. Even you have to admit that he hasn't been in the best state of mind to have any bombs dropped on his head," Isabella reasoned.

The guard-captain spun around, stabbing an accusatory finger at the pirate. "It's your fault this happened, all of it! If you hadn't been so damned selfish, the qunari would never have come to Kirkwall in the first place!"

"What should I do, then? Slit my wrists and grovel at that blasted Chantry for forgiveness?" Isabella shot back. "I hate this as much as you do, but there's nothing I can do. I didn't tell her to fight the Arishok for me. I wanted to fight in my own defense! He's the one who decided I was a bloody prize, and he's the one responsible for killing that baby. Don't pin this on me, Aveline."

"Stop it!" Merril put herself between the combative women, her emerald eyes shining with tears. "Hawke wouldn't want you fighting, and both of you make good points. But all that matters is this: Hawke and Fenris have lost their baby, and we don't know if Hawke will survive that wound. We need to concentrate on thinking good thoughts, so Anders can help her. She can't focus on getting better if we're at each other's throats!"

"Daisy's right," Varric agreed with a slow nod. "Hawke doesn't need this, and Blondie needs to concentrate on her. The worst thing any of us can do right now is fight."

Aveline stared daggers at Isabella, then whipped away to resume her pacing. "I just wish there was something, anything, we could do. Hawke's lost so much, and I've seen women shatter over a lost child. How are we going to break the news and not lose her?"

"Hawke's a fighter. If anyone on the Free Marches can move on, it's her." Isabella went to the fireplace, staring into the curling flames with very tired eyes. "At the very least, this proves she's fertile. If she and Fenris can stop dancing around and admit they want to go at it like rabbits, I'm sure there will be more children. The best way to forget one babe is to fill your arms with another, or so I'm told."

"I'm not so sure that'll work with Hawke," Varric disagreed, folding his arms across his thickly furred chest. "Her parents and sister are dead, and Carver's primary concern is parading about the Gallows in that monkey suit, scaring mages silly. We all know that Gamlen's not much of an uncle to her, so for all points and purposes this baby would have been her only family."

"Distracting her won't help." Merril rubbed the tears away from her eyes and leaned against the wall, hugging herself. "Hawke likes to confront problems head-on, especially if they involve someone she loves. She'll want to grieve, not throw herself into hard work and forget."

"You're right," Aveline conceded. "She's not the sort to wilt if she faces her pain. And if anybody can help her through this, it's Fenris. But this is a baby we're talking about, not her uncle or brother. This might be more than Hawke can take."

"What I'd like to know is whether this'll bring them back together or not. Isabella turned away from the fire, rubbing her arms as though chilled. "It's obvious as wood that they love each other, and I don't know what went so wrong with them. But is that idiot elf going to console her and leave her alone again, or stay with her?"

"He's the only one who can answer that question," Aveline began, turning her head to the side. She slowed to a stop and stared up the stairs, bringing the others' attention with her.

The Knight-Commander, Cullen, and Carver were all descending into the barracks commons.

Merril edged behind Isabella, who stood in a ready, seemingly relaxed posture before the fire. Varric took up a casual position in front of the door leading to Hawke's sickbed, ready to defend his two favorite apostates with Bianca if need be. Their cover had to be blown now, thanks to the damned qunari.

"Greetings, Knight-Commander Meredith, Knight-Captain Cullen, and Ser Carver," Aveline offered, her tone completely formal. "To what do we owe this honor?"

"Guard-Captain," Meredith returned with a nod. "We have come to assess the condition of Kirkwall's new Champion."

"Champion?" Varric blurted, his eyes wide. "You decided she's a Champion?"

"The nobles all but demanded it," Cullen explained. "For rescuing them all from a gruesome fate and single-handedly ending the qunari invasion, Lady Hawke has been given the title. It also helps that the Arishok treated her with such respect prior to his death."

"So, you're not going to arrest her?" Merril asked, peeking over Isabella's shoulder. She shied a little more behind her friend when the Knight-Commander turned her piercing blue gaze upon the nervous elf.

"And risk a second riot, with so many guards and templars injured?" Meredith shook her head, her lips pursed. "How is she?"

"She won't be getting up and frolicking about the countryside anytime soon," Varric told her, relaxing a little.

"What are her chances?" Carver asked. Whatever resentment he held towards Phaedra, she was still his sister.

"We're not sure," Aveline replied. "It is our understanding that the sword has been removed, but we do not know her current condition."

"I wouldn't worry." Cullen cleared his throat at Meredith's curious glance. "Lady Hawke is a woman of uncommon strength, the likes of which I have not seen since my encounter with the Hero of Ferelden. She will be back on her feet in no time, I'm certain."

"That is our hope," the guard-captain agreed.

Meredith looked at the little group for a time before her steely eyes drifted to the door behind Varric. "We have other duties that require our attention," she stated at length. "Please inform the Lady Hawke of her new position when she comes to."

"Certainly, Knight-Commander," Aveline replied, touching her fist to her chest.

They waited until the templars were out of sight before Varric burst out laughing. "A foreign apostate, Champion of Kirkwall! I bet that needles her like a mage dancing naked on top of her desk!"

"Why is that so funny?" Merril wanted to know.

"When we met her and the First Enchanter in Hightown, Meredith's head just about spun off when Orsino suggested Hawke should lead the assault on the qunari," the dwarf elaborated, giggling helplessly. "All because she's a Ferelden. I bet Meredith thought she would be the one named Champion, considering that she is the true power in the city, and a templar. Who better to get the most respected title in the Free Marches than one of the faithful?"

"Apparently a Ferelden apostate." Isabella smirked, her eyes dancing with humor. "Even better, Hawke's untouchable now. The Knight-Commander can't just drag her off to the Gallows now, not without turning the entire city against her."

"Is she really going to be that powerful?" Merril cocked her head to one side, unsure what to think.

"Daisy, if the Viscount were still alive, even he would be begging an audience with Hawke now. No decision will be made without her input."

"Oh."

"That's assuming she survives the night," Aveline pointedly reminded them. "The mantle of Champion is worthless to a corpse."

The mirth drained in an instant, and all the companions turned their attention back to the barracks, hoping their friend would once again beat the odds.


	6. Awakening

**Summary: **She's lost so much already. But could this be the last straw? F!Hawke/Fenris

**Disclaimer: **Phaedra is all mine, but I have nothing else.

**Queen's Quornor:** I may change the title of this chapter later on, but I'm not sure. I'm starting to get ahead of myself in this fic, because Phaedra's personality is so well-defined in my head already. She's not exactly a cheerful Hawke, but neither is she a hateful one. She's a woman who internalizes most of her pain and blames herself for it, especially with regards to her family. This would be a Hawke who berated herself for not saving Bethany, or not being fast enough to rescue her mother, or being out gallivanting about Kirkwall instead of being home with the lilies arrived. In other words, she's an empathetic person, but holds herself to a superhuman standard and punishes herself brutally when she falls short. Post-miscarriage depression is not going to be a big help in regards to how she sees herself.

Awakening

If Anders had doubted the broody elf's feelings towards Phaedra, they were dashed upon his awakening. In addition to covering her with a thick wool blanket, Fenris had pushed a second bed alongside their leader's and lay curled beside her, his ungauntleted hand resting atop her long fingers. His expression seemed far more peaceful than was the norm, especially for such a light sleeper.

For a man who doesn't like to be touched, he certainly makes an exception where she's concerned, Anders thought with a wry smile. The elf had gone so far as to remove most of his armor, leaving him in his light undershirt and leggings. An unusual move for someone so used to sleeping fully protected.

The mage made a lot of noise in getting up, warning Fenris that he was awake in case he wished to conceal his tender gesture. He rolled his stiff shoulders with an exaggerated growl, and heard the bedclothes move behind him. When he turned, he saw that Fenris had merely sat up. His hand still blanketed Phaedra's, gently curling tighter when Anders finally approached.

"Has anything changed?" he asked, deciding not to comment. He refused to say anything that might hinder the inevitable gravitation of these two, his favorite and least favorite people in Kirkwall. Phaedra might never forgive him if he did.

Fenris shrugged. "Her sleep seemed peaceful enough, though whether that was Merril's doing or not, I could not say."

"Either way, it's a good thing. Rest will give her body time to repair some of the damage naturally." Anders lifted the blanket, examining the new scar with approval. The long slash was a healthy pink, indicating that his desperate efforts had not been complicated by infection. The prognosis was very good.

"It should be safe to wake her soon," he decided at length, lowering the covers. "But, you know the first question she's going to ask, right?"

"How do we tell her about the child?" Fenris asked, ducking his head so his snowy forelocks hid his eyes. So he did care about it. Anders had wondered.

He sighed and considered the question. This wasn't the first miscarriage he had tended - Darktown being rampant with diseases that caused spontaenous abortion - but there was no easy way to tell a woman she was no longer carrying. It was any healer's least favorite news to deliver.

"As gently as we can."

Fenris' mouth tightened, but he nodded and leaned close to the sleeping mage's ear. "Phaedra, it is time to wake up."

She made a small noise and turned her head, wriggling her hips more deeply into the mattress. Anders had to grin; the head of the Hawke family was utterly adorable when still partially asleep. "Phaedra, you must wake up now."

Slowly her eyes rolled open, the dark centers of the brilliant green circles contracting fast upon contact with the light. "Fenris?" she murmured sleepily.

"I'm here, Hawke." The use of her family name rather than her given one made Anders frown. "Do you remember anything of last night?"

He shapely lips turned down as she struggled to remember. Sleep spells often effected recollection of recent events, which was why they had been young Anders' favorite dweomers whenever he was feeling frisky. Many had been the times when a templar had found himself waking from a deep sleep outside an beautiful enchanter's room, puzzled as to why he would be napping in the middle of his patrol.

"Do you recall the qunari?" he offered when she failed to answer, drawing her attention away from Fenris.

Phaedra pondered for a bit, and then her eyes widened as she found the memories. Her hands immediately clamped onto her belly and she stared at Anders with a pleading expression, forgetting the elf she loved for the moment. "Is the baby...?"

He closed his eyes and shook his head, hating this particular whim of the Maker. "I'm sorry."

The scream she let out made his hair stand on end. Phaedra curled upon herself, hugging her sides and clawing at her robes while she shrieked her grief into the blanket. Fenris hesitated, but at Anders' expectant glare he gathered her into his arms, holding her against his chest so she cried into the base of his throat. Any other man would have whispered comforting words against her scalp, perhaps even rocked her, but the former slave only kept her close, letting her lose control in his protective embrace.

The door slammed open at the first wail, and their four companions now stood in the opening, watching their strong, unbreakable leader keen. Anders quietly left her side and forced them away from the door, shutting the portal behind him so Phaedra and Fenris could be alone with their loss.

"Maker, she could make a ghost piss itself!" Isabella gasped.

Varric pursed his lips. "Rivaini, you can't really blame her. If she doesn't let it out, she'll just mope for the next few months."

"She will anyway." Aveline listened to Phaedra's aggrieved cries, looking as helpless as anybody had ever seen her. "But it will definitely be worse if she doesn't grieve now."

Seneschal Bran appeared at the top of the steps, frowning as another of the apostate's shrieks shuddered along the hall. "What is going on in there?" he demanded, gesturing brusquely at the door behind the little group. "I thought she was supposed to be in good hands, not being torn apart."

Aveline cast a glance at the others and marched over to meet the seneschal at the bottom of the staircase. "Her physical wound has been tended. But there were complications, and she needs some time to herself."

Bran folded his arms, leveling a disapproving glare at the guard-captain. "Surely this could be done with less disturbance to the rest of the Keep? If this continues, the guards are going to think you are killing our new Champion."

"She is grieving, Seneschal. She must be allowed this courtesy, or Kirkwall stands a good chance at losing its first Champion to her own hand."

One crimson brow rose high. "What reason would she have to grieve? Her brother and uncle survived the qunari attack, and all of her known associates have been accounted for."

"Not all losses are so obvious." Aveline glared at the noble, daring him to question further.

After a brief staring match, Bran finally gave her a slight nod. "I will field the questions concerning the welfare of the Champion, until such time as she has recovered her composure. The nobility will be very anxious about her when they hear of this outburst."

"The nobility can worry all they want, so long as they give her the space she needs." The guard-captain turned her back on the seneschal and returned to her friends, not watching him depart.

"What are we supposed to tell the city?" Merril dared to ask. "We can't really say that the Champion miscarried during the fight; the people will want to know where the baby came from."

"Oh, they'll know where it came from, Daisy. They'll just want to know who fathered it," Varric sighed, rubbing his temples. "I think the only people who will be thrilled with her choice of romantic partner will be the elves. Outside of the Alienage, the city's going to make her the butt of every crude joke imaginable."

"Maybe not." Isabella rubbed her chin thoughtfully, watching the top of the stairs. "If the people hear that their beloved Champion, who so recently lost her mother to a deranged killer and blood mage, has lost the child she conceived with the man she loved to a monster like the Arishok, they might support her even more in her time of grief."

"Or they could mock her as a Ferelden apostate who can't even pick a proper noble as a partner, and was arrogant enough to risk her child's life in the fight. They might say she deserved what she got, despite her saving Kirkwall's collective ass." Aveline scrubbed her face with her hands, breathing slowly. "It would have been better if Anders had fathered this babe, in their minds. Apostate or not, at least he's a human."

"Hey, leave me out of this. I love Phaedra as a friend, but not as one with benefits," Anders protested, holding up his hands.

"At least the seneschal is discreet," Varric pointed out. "Whatever he relays to the nobles, it probably won't be very damaging to Hawke's reputation. If we're lucky, I might be able to spin it so she's crying over the lives lost before she stopped the invasion, or grieving for the viscount because nobody else will. Something selfless and noble that her adoring public will love. They're big on crap like that."

Merril tipped her head to the side. "But she is noble. That's why people like her, isn't it?"

"No, they like her because she's a beautiful, dangerous apostate who gallantly denies the temptation of demons and hangs out with gorgeous, lanky ex-slaves, curvacious raiders, and self-described handsome dwarves." Isabella's eyes twinkled at Varric's indignant exclamation.

"But she does help a lot of people. That has cemented her reputation," Anders pointed out. "Whatever people say about her, that's what they'll remember." He listened at the door for a moment, then nodded. "Sounds like she's calmed down a little. At least she's not keening anymore."

"Fenris is probably grateful for that. She didn't do this when her mother died," the Dalish murmured.

"That's because she didn't carry her mother in her body. Believe me, there's a stronger connection between a mother and her child than an adult and her mother." Anders stretched to the ceiling, twisting his back from side to side. "Anyway, we need to get in front of this. People will want to know why she was making such a fuss."

"I'm going to find my guardsmen. They can help subdue any rumors that get passed about her. A little reminder of her new status will keep some respect, I think." Aveline mounted the stairs, shifting her shield upon her back. "Keep me posted, all right?"

"We will, Aveline," Isabella promised, ignoring the surprised looks given by the others.

"So what do we do now?" Merril wondered, glancing at the door.

Anders settled in the corner between wall and hearth. "We wait until she feels ready to come out. She'll need a lot of time to come to terms with this, and so will Fenris. He only found out last night, but he was still the father. That was his family, too."

"Which means he'll be brooding even more than usual." Varric slid down the wall beside the healer, settling Bianca in his lap with the handy cloth. "Joy."


	7. Feelings

**Summary: **She's lost so much already. But could this be the last straw? F!Hawke/Fenris

**Disclaimer: **Phaedra is all mine, but I have nothing else.

**Queen's Quornor:** In the future, I might come back to this chapter and add a scene with the other characters. Not too sure about that. Following this chapter, there's going to be a transition in time, as Phaedra takes a turn for the worse...

Feelings

Phaedra rarely lost control. The one time she ever had, in Fenris' memory, was when Gasgard duPois had taken advantage of her trust to find the blood mage Quentin. Yet even then, she had been able to step back and convince him of the unnatural evil that suffused necromancy, thereby gaining his support to avenge her mother's murder.

Seeing her like this - curled against his body, clutching at his shirt while helpless tears soaked his skin and agonized whimpers, mere ghosts of her previous wails, filled the room - Fenris could not help thinking her so much more vulnerable than he had thought. He wanted to protect her from the force of her grief, fearing it would shake her slender body to pieces. But he was unable to forget that she was a mage, a woman who could command the earth, the sea, the heavens upon a whim.

He could not put it aside, no matter how deeply he loved her. There were, and always would be, things against which he could not protect her.

Fenris had been so worried about demons and assassins, he had never believed something so mundane as a child could devastate her.

He threaded his fingers into her colorless hair, resting his cheek on her scalp. Phaedra still felt perfect in his arms, even under these circumstances. How could he just let her go, when this felt so right?

She sobbed again, and he recalled his guilt. Their baby was no more.

At last Phaedra's tears slowed and she began sniffing hard, trying to breathe through her nose. Fenris removed his arms so she could sit comfortably opposite him. The nobles would not be thrilled by her appearance now, as the constant crying had turned the mage's face bright red and her eyes, so often compared to glowing poison by certain amateur storytellers, were ringed by swollen flesh. To Fenris, however, she would never be anything less than breath-taking.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she rasped, looking at the expanse of linens between them.

"I understand why you didn't. You wanted to let me come to terms with my past, because I was incapable of looking to the future." He curled his hands, denying his need to touch her again. He did not need to feel the warmth of her skin to know she was still alive. Neither of them were ready to experience passion yet.

"I was waiting for you. I just... I didn't think this thing with the qunari would happen like this. I thought we could help them find what they lost and leave the city before Petrice's people pushed them too far." She wiped at her eyes and sniffed again. "The qunari didn't want this any more than we did. But it still cost everyone in the end. Just like I kept telling the Viscount and Petrice, all along."

"A lot of families are crying tonight. The Chantry will be very busy for the next few days." Fenris looked away, unsure how to soothe the raw pain he had witnessed. After a lifetime of keeping himself separate from other people, even helping the woman he loved to feel better seemed an awkward and insurmountable task. "We all need to heal, and somehow move on."

Phaedra nodded, but did not raise her head. "I'm not sure some wounds can be healed, Fenris."


	8. Blood

**Summary: **She's lost so much already. But could this be the last straw? F!Hawke/Fenris

**Disclaimer: **Phaedra is all mine, but I have nothing else.

**Queen's Quornor:** Here the angst continues; did you really think it would take only one chapter for her to forgive herself for the miscarriage? I think that Fenris would eventually come to accept Anders' place in his beloved's life, especially if his former rival made it clear that he isn't going to pursue Hawke anymore. They'll never be friends, but perhaps it would be possible for them to have an understanding and sort of mutual respect between them. With the close friendship between Anders and Phaedra here, Fenris is going to have to either accept the runaway Warden's presence in her life, or understand that his love is going to be unrequited from thereon out. Admittedly, I'm not sure how warding works in the Dragon Age world. I know how it works in various D&D worlds, particularly the Forgotten Realms and Greyhawk, so I'm lifting a couple of ideas from those campaign settings to round out Phaedra's arcane knowledge here. DA gives you a lot of history and basic know-how, but not the complete nitty-gritty. For example, it's not clear if simply spilling their blood is all it takes for a mage to be tempted by a demon, or if a mage has to actively seek counsel or congress before he or she can use blood magic. My guess is that it has to be the latter, because with all the dangers and potential injuries a mage faces daily the former is impossible the avoid. Yet the way certain templars act, it's almost as if merely scratching oneself on a table and drawing blood is enough to become a blood mage. Clarification is nice, but since there doesn't seem to be as much light shed on the subject as I would prefer, I'm taking artistic license.

Blood

If he were a lesser man, Fenris would admit that he was genuinely worried. Phaedra had not come to the Hanged Man for the weekly card game in three months, and the last time she had given him a reading lesson had been prior to the qunari attack. In fact, she had not left her mansion since they took her home the day after the miscarriage. Hightown was overflowing with rumors about the Champion, and why she would not attend any of the parties to which she was invited. Varric and Anders were the only ones who had managed to see her, and only the mage would talk when Fenris demanded answers.

"She's been punishing herself for losing the baby," Anders had informed him, after closing his clinic for the day. "I can't talk her out of it, and I sure as sin can't go to Carver with this. He'd tell the Knight-Commander and Phaedra would join Bartrand in the sanitarium. I think she needs somebody else to make her see reason, somebody more important to her than me or her brother. With her mother gone, that leaves you.

"Talk some sense into her, Fenris. I fear for her life if this continues."

Thus Fenris found himself at the bottom of Phaedra's staircase, enduring Bodahn's curious gaze upon his back. The dwarf was garbed in his nightclothes; it had taken some pounding before the sleepy-eyed manservant had answered the door. There was a good chance Phaedra had retired, but the elf knew she was likely still awake. She always took first watch whenever they camped.

It was obvious that Bodahn wanted to go back to bed, so Fenris began ascending the stairs. Phaedra had a standing rule that her servants could let her guests inside, but it was better if they saw themselves out, due to the fluctuating length of their visits.

At the top of the stairs, Fenris began wondering what he was going to say. How could he explain that Anders, of all people, had directed him here? She would suspect something if he told her that. Even the primary reason for his visit - checking on her - seemed a touch absurd, considering the hour.

Phaedra's door was closed, which only made the elf more uneasy. Should he knock? Walk in? Call out first? He decided knocking was the best course and approached the door with an upraised hand.

His eyes widened as he scented the copper tang of spilled blood.

He shoved the door open to find Phaedra sitting on her bed with her chamberpot between her crossed legs, holding one naked arm over the vessel. In her opposite hand gleamed a small knife, and a precise line of bleeding cuts ran up the length of her arm. The mage was looking at him in utter shock.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

The elf couldn't believe what he was seeing. After everything she had said about demons and blood magic, she had decided to practice it? He had trusted her! Loved her! "The better question is, what are _you _doing?" he snarled, baring his teeth.

She hid her sliced arm with her hand, dropping the knife on her blanket. "It's not what you think."

"Then enlighten me. Because it looks to me as if you may be no better than Danarius!"

Phaedra flinched. "I'm not a blood mage."

"You're a mage, and you are opening your veins. What other reason would you have?" he growled, surpressing the urge to shake her. If she was practicing blood magic, he would have no recourse other than to kill her. This was the one atrocity he could not forgive, even from the woman he held closest to his heart.

"Because it feels good."

That startled him. Fenris had never heard of such a thing. "You're lying."

"I swear to you, I am not." She looked to the flames dancing in her hearth and her eyes became shadowed with more than firelight. The mighty Champion suddenly looked...broken. "When I cut myself, it makes me feel better. Cleaner. All my pain drains away for a little while." She turned her haunted gaze upon her arm, and the blood smeared across the alabaster flesh. Her voice flattened. "But then it comes again, and I have to cut myself to make it go away. I don't use my power when I do this. I only do it because it feels good."

Looking at her arm, Fenris saw what he had missed. Blood mages did not repeatedly slice themselves in such a short period of time, and certainly not so neatly. Their cuts were haphazard and deep.

Nor was it the only sign to back up her claim. Her nightshirt was sleeveless, and Fenris saw that her other arm was lined with half-healed cuts and new scars. He couldn't see beyond the blood on the other limb, but he was willing to believe that it was in a similar state.

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to think that this was not a betrayal, that she was only hurting herself to alieviate her inner pain. But he could not forget that whenever a mage opened his or her veins, demons invariably came calling. Fenris would not allow Phaedra to become an abomination. He would kill her first, if that was what it took to protect her from their evil.

"What about demons? Don't they come to you whenever you do this?"

She shook her head. "Look at the floor."

He raised one brow askance, but at her wave the elf carefully eyed the floor. It took some scrutinization, but at last he saw the tiny, paper-thin runes scratched into the tiles, vanishing beneath the rug so it completely encircled her bed. He met her guarded expression. "You warded your bed?"

"I know what demons would offer me, and I would rather not be bothered with them right now. My father taught me a number of ways to guard against malevolent spirits; I've been putting most of them to use of late." She was close to tears. It bothered Fenris intensely to see her this way, to know that he was partly to blame for her actions. He pursed his lips in thought, then removed his sword and leaned it against the wall beside the desk.

"There are better ways of making yourself feel better, Hawke. You know that. So why turn to this?" he asked, approaching the bed.

Phaedra could not look at him. "Nothing else worked. I've never enjoyed drinking more than a little at a time. I can't go out and shoot lightning at trees. None of you would let me leave the city by myself to chase down bandits, and I don't want to kill anything anyway. Smoking Isabela's weed has never been an option. And I'm not the sort to go find a man and let him...you know. Just for sport." She rolled her arm towards the fire, so the light caught the drying blood and made it glow. "I didn't know what to do. But I caught my knife on my hand while I was shaving my quill one evening, and it made me feel better. So I kept doing it. Now I can't relax if I don't hurt myself first."

Fenris settled on the bed by her feet, twisting to face her fully. "This is why you've been staying here, isn't it? Why you refuse to leave for anything, even to see your friends. You're ashamed of yourself."

She nodded and swiped at her eyes. "I can't let people see me like this. Anders came to examine me; that's how he found out. When he took my pulse, he noticed the cuts. Varric only comes to visit me during the day, when I'm properly dressed. He doesn't know. None of the servants know. Sandal never looks in the chamberpot when he empties it, and I doubt Orana or Bodahn would ask me if he did notice something. They might even think it was just my menses."

"Hawke." Fenris paused, knowing that distance was not the best course here. "Phaedra, this isn't helping you. Remember what you told me, when you came to my mansion for my lesson after we killed Hadriana?"

She licked her lips, the merest hint of moisture shining the rosy flesh. "I told you it was better to move on with your life, that you couldn't direct everything."

"You also said I couldn't blame myself for things beyond my control, even though they may have occured because of something I did. You told me that when I described my experience with the Fog Warriors." The elf tipped her chin up, capturing her gaze. "I offer you the same advice now. Stop punishing yourself for something you couldn't control. Nobody blames you for what happened, and neither should you. We are all just happy that you survived that injury; the apostate said it was a very close call."

"You would rather I survived, but not the child?" she asked, her vibrant green eyes glistening.

Fenris touched her hand, wishing he could tell her everything, exactly how he felt. But she was too vulnerable to hear it now. He did not want her to accept his love only because she could not stand to be alone; he would wait until she had mastered her grief, and could consider him with a clear head. Loving her now would only harm her in the longer stretch of time. "Children can be replaced. People bear many, because they are so fragile when they are young. But a woman cannot be so easily substituted. There is no other like you, Phaedra, and I would rather not spend the rest of my years searching for another you."

She sniffed hard and wiped at her eyes. "You truly mean that?"

"I do."

Phaedra raised her hands to her face, sobbing. "I won't cut myself again. I swear it!"

The elf nodded slowly and rose from the bed, taking the chamberpot and the knife with him. While she cried on the bed, he busied himself with gathering the bandages she kept in the bottom of her wardrobe and an elfroot salve from her supply in the chest. This was not the first occasion he had spent tending her wounds.

She always had a ceramic pitcher filled with water in the other wardrobe, in case she wanted to wash her face in the accompanying basin before leaving the mansion. Fenris retrieved the articles and dipped a folded bandage in the bowl. "Let me see your arm," he coaxed, returning to the bed.

Phaedra looked at him with swollen eyes, but allowed him to tug her injured arm away into his lap. She flinched but did not cry out as he gently wiped away the blood and cleaned the cuts. He felt her unreadable expression while he spread the healing salve down the length of her limb, but did not comment. She spoke only when he had finished winding her arm in clean bandages and was tying them securely in place.

"Will you stay with me?" she whispered.

He wanted to say that it was not a good idea. She was still broken, only just beginning to mend. Did she even know what she was asking of him?

But her eyes were filled with pain and fear. This powerful mage was afraid of being alone tonight. If he rejected her plea, would she fall deeper into her despair? How much more guilt would he know if she did?

"I'll stay."

But he refused to sleep in her bed. There were too many memories for him to lie comfortably beside her. Instead, he retrieved a book from her small library and settled at her desk, facing her. Phaedra gave him a weak smile from her place beneath the covers.

"Do you think...we'll ever go back to the way things were? That night, I mean." She pinked and turned away. "Sorry. If you don't want to talk about it-"

"We'll have to sooner or later, but I don't think now is the best time." Fenris looked at the book, but he wasn't seeing the words. He was thinking back, remembering how she had looked writhing beneath the press of his hips, caged within his arms. He had been so honored by her trust in his strength and discipline, her willingness to accept him in such an intimate manner. The elf regretted nothing so much as that long walk away from Phaedra and her love.

She sighed. "You're right. I'm not in any state to calmly discuss something like that. I'd fall apart."

Or worse, reach for the knife again. Fenris couldn't stand seeing more of her pain, not if he wanted to mantain his distance and let her decide if she wanted him or not, rationally. "Go to sleep, Phaedra. I will still be here when you awaken."

The mage smiled again, a pale imitation of her wide grins and mischevious smirks, and rolled onto her side. Still facing him, she closed her eyes and slowly relaxed.

Fenris tried to focus on the book, but could not concentrate on the accounts of a traveling scholar. His gaze kept returning to the sleeping woman, and the bandages sheathing her arm. He was the reason she was like this. If he had been more careful, had possessed the presence of mind to remove himself from her body before his completion, this never would have happened. She would not have gotten pregnant, and no baby would have been lost. If his discipline had not failed him in the critical instant, they would probably be exploring the coastline with their comrades, or keeping a watchful eye on the Ferelden miners at the Bone Pit.

Perhaps they would have gotten involved in the city's rebuilding, contributing sovreigns or labor for the reconstruction. Phaedra could even be spending time with Anders in his clinic, using her deep connection to the benevolent Fade spirits to heal those in need.

The elf frowned, realizing that his hatred towards the abomination was not as deep as he recalled. Anders had, after all, saved Phaedra's life. He had been the one to direct him here tonight. Fenris had always suspected that Anders' love for their leader was stronger than what he professed, but in light of recent events he found himself wondering. This would have been a perfect time for his apparent rival to worm his way into Phaedra's heart and bed, since Fenris had hurt her so deeply. Losing the child should have made her even more susceptible to romantic advances on the other man's part. But Anders had not taken advantage of her vulnerable state; indeed, he seemed to be trying to nudge her back Fenris' way.

Even so, this was not the time to discuss their relationship. Phaedra was not the only one in need of healing from his actions.

Fenris finally set the book aside and went to her second wardrobe, where she also kept her spare linens and blankets. He selected a blanket of black wool and a pair of white sheets, spreading them carefully on the floor beside her. The blanket would cushion his weight against the tiles, and with the fire so close to his feet he would only need a light covering. Phaedra did not stir as he stole the spare pillow. He kept a careful eye on her while he removed his armor and laid the pieces neatly beside the desk with his sword, but the slight jingle of mail and leather did not seem to register with her. Clad only in his pants, the elf finally laid on the makeshift bed, looking up to what curve of hip and shoulder which he could see from his position on the floor.

"Sleep well, my Phaedra." A smile tugged at his lips. "Be certain to look down before you arise."


	9. Together

**Summary: **She's lost so much already. But could this be the last straw? F!Hawke/Fenris

**Disclaimer: **Phaedra is all mine, but I have nothing else.

**Queen's Quornor:** Okay, yes, it does get a little racy at the end. But do you see a rating change? I decided to keep this chapter in the same vein as the game itself: hinting and insinuating without actually showing us the nuts and bolts, unlike in Origins. The way I interpret the Mature rating is "how explicit does it get, and can a reasonably mature person enjoy this without trying to imitate it or show it to little kids around the house?" Last I checked, most of the stuff in the T rating wasn't exactly suitable for the chil'rens either. Anyway, that aside, I decided to give you all a longer chapter than usual for being so patient since I last updated. And there is going to be at least one more chapter, maybe two. But unless you leave me some feedback, it's never going to see the light of day. I can see the favs and alerts, so there isn't much excuse for not telling me where I need to improve, where I'm succeeding, and whether Phaedra is a complete waste of space or a character who genuinely elicits sympathy. Talk to me, people! I can't get back into full writing shape (and thus publishing shape) without some critiques. But, obviously, no flames please. Anders does not like the flames...

Together

Phaedra wanted to deny what she was seeing: the man she loved and her best friend, locked in a passionate embrace.

She had come to catch up with Varric about had been happening in Lowtown since the rebuilding was finished, how the new social order of gangs was hammering itself out - nobody would miss the so-called lords of the street - when he had been called away for a minute. That had been when Isabela and Fenris had wandered in and started...this.

Seated in the corner, hidden in the shadows cast by a single guttering lantern-light, Phaedra knew they couldn't see her. But she could see them well enough. Isabela had Fenris against the wall, her hands threaded through his soft white hair to pin his head in place while she ravished his mouth, pressing her body tight against his in a manner the mage could only describe as lewd. It was an open invitation if she had ever seen one. For his part, the elf didn't seem to be encouraging Isabela, but neither was he denying her. He merely rested his gauntleted hands upon her ample hips, holding her steady.

Phaedra pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, hiding her moonlight tresses with shaking hands. They couldn't see her. They couldn't know she was here...

She ducked her head as the kiss ended, concentrating on holding back the tears blurring her vision. Fenris said something to the pirate, but she couldn't decipher his words, due to the blood pounding in her ears. So this was it, then. After three years of fruitless visits and dancing about the subject she longed to discuss, he had finally moved on. He didn't want an apostate like her, who had lost his child and risked demonic possession for the simple catharsis of cleansing pain. No wonder he refused to talk about their relationship. She probably sickened him.

He didn't want her.

Phaedra waited, biting her lip to distract her breaking heart, until she was certain she was alone. At last she carefully got to her feet, wanting nothing more than to go home.

She passed Varric in the doorway, and he stopped her with a fistful of her cloak. "Hawke, what's wrong?"  
>"Nothing," she choked. "I'll...see you later, Varric."<p>

The mage pulled the fabric out of his grasp and focused on the bar's entrance, her path to salvation, and started across the common room. The jovial music she normally enjoyed only hastened her step, to the point that she hoped nobody would realize who was beneath her hood. Corff would have a field day speculating why the Champion was so hurriedly departing his establishment.

Halfway across the floor, she heard Merril call out her name. Out of habit, she looked to the side, where the Dalish was sitting. Most of her remaining friends had crowded around a table by the fire, the usual spot for their weekly game of Wicked Grace. Anders, as had become the norm, was not present. Isabela grinned over her shoulder and quickly turned her attention back to her hand, scrutinizing Merril as the elven mage drew a card. Aveline waved absently, absorbed in the game.

Fenris, however, managed to catch her eye as she paused. He offered her one of those tiny smiles reserved for her alone, but this time she could not return the affectionate gesture. Her fragile mask crumbled at the greeting, and her bright green eyes filled with the shattered pieces of her heart. His warm expression turned to one of utter confusion, then shock and dawning horror.

Phaedra didn't wait for further reaction. Uncaring of potential gossip, she ran out the door into the pouring rain, where the weather would hide her tears.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Rivaini!" Isabela's hand went airborne as an irate dwarf yanked her from her seat. "We need to talk. _Now._"

"If you wanted me alone, all you had to do was ask!" she yelped, stumbling along behind Varric. "Dammit, will you slow down?"

Varric pulled her into his room, then whirled to show her an expression totally lacking in amusement. "What did you do?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, playing coy.

"I've never seen Hawke like that before, Rivaini. She looked like someone just smashed her in the chest with the biggest hammer in Thedas. I only left her for a few minutes, so you must have done something. What was it?"

"I decided to play matchmaker, that's all." Isabela shrugged in the face of the dwarf's fury. "It's been three years since she and Fenris did anything even remotely romantic. I figured I'd appeal to her natural female jealousy, and get them back together."

The dwarf stared at her, aghast, then covered his eyes with one hand. "You didn't. Rivaini, a damned quickie? Seriously?"

"Of course not! She's my friend; I wouldn't do that to her!" She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms over her bosom. "I kissed him, that's all."

"How did you manage that? He's not the type to cheat." Varric eyed her suspiciously. "You didn't slip him some of those weeds, did you?"

"He owed me thirty sovereigns from our last five games. When I saw Hawke come in, I told him I'd forgive his debt if he let me kiss him. He agreed, so long as it was where nobody would see us. All I had to do was wait until you left, and his attention was on me." Isabela licked her lips slowly, a satisfied grin spreading unbidden across her face. "I can see why she likes him. Those lips are _magic._"

Varric was not amused. "Hawke's been a mess since she lost that baby. The reason they haven't gotten back together is because the elf has been afraid of hurting her before she's ready to risk herself again. He's been waiting for her to get it together, so he can tell her how he feels!

"And you probably just ruined any chance they had, Rivaini. Nice job."

Isabela shook her head. "Varric, come with me."

She led him to the stairs and threw her hand towards the card table, which now seated only Merril and Aveline. Fenris was conspicuously absent.

"There's only one place he'd go, Varric. And it's not that dusty old mansion of his."

"I really hope this helps, Rivaini. If it doesn't - "

"Feel free to spank me with an anchor," she sighed.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Blood was beautiful.

Phaedra leaned against the alley wall and watched the scarlet wash slip down her arm, trickling off her elbow to fall sparkling among the rain as rubies among diamonds. She held her knife loosely in her opposite hand, utterly focused on the veins pulsing beneath her pale skin, the raised lines of old scars too neat to be accidental.

She had a special hatred for blood magic, but she wasn't calling to any power now. All she wanted was the pain.

What was she lacking? True, Isabela had a body straight out of those dirty novels of hers, but that hadn't seemed to matter to Fenris before. He liked her slim waist and small, round breasts, and his eyes followed every movement of her swaying hips. He admired the colorless purity of her hair, the unusually vivid color of her eyes. She was the only woman, among his four female companions, whom he had ever called 'beautiful'. It wasn't her looks that were deficient.

Her magic seemed the most likely reason. But Fenris had told her she was the only mage he had ever liked, the only one he could trust. He welcomed her arcane might at his side in battle, and was appreciative of her affinity for the healing arts when his guard slipped. It couldn't be her magic, at least not anymore.

It was what she represented, then. He looked at her, and saw a weak woman who had lost his child, who had taken to slicing her arms to deal with the agony of that loss and punish herself. She was the reason his memories had returned, and the person who had stayed his hand when his sister had betrayed him. Phaedra was irrevocably tied to pain in his mind, whereas Isabela represented freedom and passion. That had to be it.

Phaedra sobbed, feeling hot tears spilling down her clammy cheeks, and raised the knife to her naked forearm again.

"I thought you swore never to do that again."

The husky voice halted her as surely as a hand about her wrist, snapping her attention to the mouth of the alley. Fenris stood framed between the walls, his palms flat on either side to block her escape.

Phaedra withered beneath the reproach in those beautiful eyes, turning away in shame. "You know I'm not calling to any demons. Why should it matter?"

"Stop doing this to yourself. What if you open too many veins, and don't heal yourself in time?" he demanded.

She closed her eyes, feeling her misery rise to choke her. "No one would miss me. They would mourn the loss of the Champion, but not Phaedra Hawke, apostate from Ferelden."

"You know that's not true. Your family would miss you."

"Gamlen would only miss the stipend I send him, and Carver would probably rejoice at being free of my shadow."

"You can't think the same of your friends."

"They would move on very quickly. Varric and Aveline have their own duties, Merril's practically glued to that mirror, and Anders has Justice for company. All Isabela needs is a drink and a quick tumble, and she's fine."

"Then what of me? Do you think I would forget you so easily?" His voice sounded very close; he must have come nearer while she was distracted. Phaedra fancied she could feel the heat from his body against her chilled back, and felt even more wretched knowing that he would not get any closer to someone like her.

She sobbed out a bitter laugh. "Without me, you're free from the chains of the past. Laying with me brought your memories back, remember? It's why you left me. All I am is a damned reminder of pain; you're better off without me." She lowered her head, wishing the truth wasn't so agonizing. "Just go enjoy yourself with Isabela. Don't let me keep you from being happy."

The rain beat a staccato rhythm upon the road, filling her ears with pure noise. So long did the vocal silence last, Phaedra thought he had taken the opportunity to leave. Her surprise was complete when sharp-tipped fingers gripped her arm, spinning her to face an elf so angry, he was trembling.

"How could you think so little of yourself?" he gritted, clutching her shoulders in an iron grip. "Being with you made me remember, yes, but don't you dare think I hated the experience! I cherish that night, Phaedra, as I cherish you! Isabela is a friend, but I'll never count her as my lover. Not when she treats such an intimate act so cheaply."

"Then why did you kiss her?" Phaedra cried, her throat raw. "I saw the two of you! She went at you like a shark on a one-legged swimmer."

"Because she tricked me." Fenris sighed heavily and loosened his grip a little, but did not let her go. "I owed her a substantial sum from our last few games, and had no way to acquire the sovereigns. Isabela said that if I kissed her in Varric's room, she would forgive my debt. I had no idea you were there, or I would have refused. I swear to you, that kiss means nothing to me."

Phaedra stared up at him, blinking rain and pain from her eyes. "You're not attracted to her? At all?"

"Isabela is a beauty, to be certain. But I find that I prefer women of more substance than looks." He raised one hand to her cheek, cupping her face with a tenderness few would believe he possessed. His eyes softened, and Phaedra felt her heart begin to knit itself back together. "I want a woman who can make me feel, who accepts my shortcomings and possesses the patience to help me correct them. If a woman would only pluck the book from my hands and toss it aside in favor of sex rather than help me make sense of the words, what use is she to me?"

"Most men would prefer a woman like Isabela," the mage interjected.

"I am not most men." Fenris gave her one of his rare smiles. "She is a common sort of woman. That is not what I want."

She swallowed, scarcely daring to believe this was happening after so long. "Then who?"

He sighed. "I would have thought it perfectly obvious, especially to one of your intelligence. But since you cannot read subtleties at the moment..." Before Phaedra could say anything, Fenris wrapped his arms around her and slanted his mouth across hers, the kiss filled with his love and desire for her. She clung to him, totally incapable of supporting herself for the moment.

After several heated minutes, the elf drew back to look into her face, tipping her chin up with one hand so her eyes met his. "Do you still doubt me, Phaedra?"

"I didn't think...you still cared," she whispered, letting him brush her sodden hair behind her ear. "After I lost the baby - "

"I was grieving too. If I gave you the impression you and the child meant nothing to me, then I am sorry." He shook his head. "All this time, I've been trying to think of how to ask your forgiveness for my cowardice."

He wasn't doing anything to cure her confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"When I left you, that night. Between the memories and what we shared, and my confusion about why your touch did not cause me pain, I felt I did not deserve you. It was all too much." Fenris ran his hands up and down her back, encouraging warmth through her drenched clothes. "If there was a way to relive that night, I would not run. I would stay and keep you in my arms, and tell you how I felt.

"The memories were only part of the reason why I left, Phaedra. I did not feel worthy of you, especially when I realized how fully you had given yourself to me. I thought it better if you hated me and found someone else to love, no matter how much it killed me to lose you."

She brushed her eyes, favoring him with a genuine smile. "Who I love is my own choice, Fenris. And my heart belongs only to you, if you'll have it. It's always been yours."

"I couldn't ask for anything better." He pulled her close, then looked down at the shivering mage. "I think we should get you out of those robes, before you take ill."

It was dizzying to think that she was the only person he routinely allowed the privilege of touching him. But it was true, as their clasped hands attested. Phaedra let him lead her through the rainy streets, her heart filled with joy for the first time in a long span. She merely luxuriated in the feel of his long fingers tangled with hers.

So absorbed was she in simply being near him, she didn't realize where he was taking her. Fenris had shut the door and clicked the lock before she noticed this was not her mansion.

"Why your place?" she asked, tightly controlling her chattering teeth.

"It's closer, for one thing. For another, I would prefer a little privacy. Orana still cannot face me without blushing."

"What about my clothes?"

The look he gave her made her blood sizzle. "You won't need them."

Speechless, Phaedra followed him to the sitting room, which doubled as his bedroom. It was really the only room he used in the entire structure, aside from the wine cellar. Their friends often teased him about confining himself to such a relatively small living space, but Phaedra admired him. Fenris made no pretentions about what he needed, and saw little reason to acknowledge anything beyond that. Most of Kirkwall's elite could stand to take a page from his book, in her opinion.

As he knelt before the fireplace, she glanced around the spacious room curiously. He had moved a bookshelf between the windows and it was halfway filled with volumes. Phaedra read a few of the titles.

"You bought all of Varric's books?" she asked, surprised. The dwarf possessed a brilliant mind and charm to spare, but his original storytelling was fairly dubious, in her opinion. In her house, his "Hard in Hightown" series saw use only as paperweights.

"He gave them to me, along with his collection of stories about the Champion Hawke." Fenris finally coaxed a flame from the wooden crate he had sacrificed to the cause. "I only read those when I feel less broody than usual, especially the book about you. Did you know you once danced a jig atop the bar with Isabela at the Hanged Man, wearing only your smallclothes? The two of you supposedly earned fifty-seven sovereigns between you, and were offered a permanent position as dancers by Corff. You refused once you sobered up."

Phaedra could not stop the laughter that bubbled up from her belly. "Where does he come up with these tales? The last time I danced was when I left Gamlen's house for good."

"Some of them aren't his. He only records them, for posterity. In fact, there is one story that isn't present in the copied volumes of your many colorful exploits." The elf reached up to pull the book in question from the top shelf and flipped through it until he reached the center of the pages. "Read this."

She took the book and began reading at the line he indicated. Her eyes widened as she realized the subject material, then gentled. "Varric wrote this?"

"No." Fenris slid the dripping cloak from her shoulders, his gauntleted fingers lightly scratching over her bare shoulders. She shivered again, but not from any chill. "He came to play Diamondback with Donnic and me one evening, and while I was retrieving some wine he investigated a few papers I had left on my bed. I wrote the original story; he merely took it and made it publishable. I...convinced him to remove it before he sent his book to the scribes. But he gave me the second copy he made, with the story intact."

Phaedra devoured the story while he went to the drying rack before the fire and spread her cloak. This did not sound like one of Varric's creations. It spoke of her dancing in a moonlit glen, nude and bathed by starlight. After a time she was joined by a nameless man upon the dewy grass, and narrator told of their powerful love for one another, how only they had ever seen one another this way. The tender eroticism of the story made her heart pound and her hands trembled as she lifted her gaze to meet Fenris'.

"I...had no idea you felt this way," she stammered.

He approached her cautiously and rested his hands beneath hers, supporting the book with her. "I wrote that the night I heard the story about you and Isabela. I kept thinking about how different that Hawke sounded from the elegant, sophisticated woman I knew, and everything I wanted to tell you just spilled onto the pages."

"You've never seen me dance," she murmured, looking down.

Fenris laughed softly and closed the book, putting it back on the shelf. "In a way, yes I have. We danced three years ago, without any music or fancy clothes or admiring audience, and ever since I have dreamed of dancing with you again." He traced the curve of her cheek, softly brushed her ear. "I want to see you twisting beneath me, moving to my tempo. I want to be the only partner you'll ever need or know, because I cannot bear to live without you anymore."

"Fenris," she gasped, wrapping her arms about his waist as he linked his fingers behind her head. His jade eyes trapped hers, and her blood visibly slammed against the tender skin of her neck as he pulled her close, only a few inches separating their lips.

"Do I have your heart, Phaedra?" he whispered. "Can I truly call you mine?"

"Only if I can say the same for you." Heat flashed through her when she watched his eyes darken with deep, powerful emotions neither could hope to deny.

"I surrender only to you, siren of my heart."

At last his mouth took hers, and Phaedra clung to him. _This _was what she had needed. _This_ was what she had craved when the pain of the miscarriage had faded and the people had placed her on a pedestal. She had been dead and now she was reborn in his loving arms. She was Champion only because of this man.

Armor and clothes fell away with only the faintest of touches, and Fenris led her to his empty bed. Phaedra gasped lightly at the icy touch of the sheets on her naked flesh, but then he joined her and the inferno of his lean form called to the heat he had stoked within her.

Fenris had been very hesitant the first time, afraid of losing control and hurting her. This time his touch was confident, tracing deep circles and sinuous patterns on her body until she pushed against him, craving deeper contact.

She met his eyes as he held her close, and wanted to cry at the sheer emotion therein. This was not pity, nor guilt. He truly loved her, in spite of everything.

"I waited for you, all this time," he breathed, hooking her leg over his hip.

"I was a fool to think you had moved on." She kissed him hard and rolled onto her back, opening her arms to him. "Do you think anybody would miss us if we...make up for lost time?"

He laughed and lifted himself above her, jade eyes glittering. "I think all Varric would have to do is draw a picture of what we're doing, and people will get the basic idea to leave us alone."


	10. Peace

**Summary: **She's lost so much already. But could this be the last straw? F!Hawke/Fenris

**Disclaimer: **Phaedra and the young'uns are all mine, but I have nothing else.

**Queen's Quornor:** So we come to the end. I don't know what Bioware has in store for us with DA3 (please don't keep us in suspense, guys!), although I have my theories, so this is kind of a neutral ending for Phaedra. I may write a follow-up fic to this, where I put forth an idea as to what happened to both Hawke and the Warden; haven't decided yet. But for now, she and Fenris have their peace.

Peace

Fenris did not stir as she slipped from the bed. It had been a very long day for him, splitting fallen logs for their winter woodpile, and Phaedra was loathe to disturb him. He would have another early start in the morning.

She drew her robe about her body and shivered lightly. Her magic could keep the house warm, but they preferred more mundane means. She wanted to be ready at a moment's notice, in case the templars ever found them.

Security over comfort. That had been Fenris' motto, and she had adapted as her own since leaving Kirkwall.

Phaedra padded down the little hall to the children's room, peeking inside with a smile. Rai'eena and Leda had opened their bed to little Malcolm again, the boy snuggling between the twins as though he too had shared the womb with them.

The moonlight sheeted across their tousled heads, two white and one scarlet. The girls were not identical, despite the similarity in their faces. Rai'eena had taken to stealing her mother's dwindling supply of kohl, loving the contrast between her outlined eyes and her bright hair. She had spirit, and attitude enough for them all.

It had been nine years since the flight from Kirkwall. Phaedra and Fenris would have run beyond Ferelden, had they not been slowed by her pregnancy. The Brecilian Forest had been as good a place as any to settle, particularly with the Dalish clans wandering through, offering trade of goods and services. It had been with their help that Fenris had managed to build a home large enough for a growing family, and only just in time for the twins' birth.

Yet now the house was almost too big. Fenris had anticipated many children, but Malcolm's birth had been so difficult that, were it not for the healer Aneirin, Phaedra would have died. As it was, her childbearing days were finished.

It was yet another loss in a difficult life. But this time, Kirkwall's former finest had not grieved so much. She had Fenris and three active children to fill her arms, and no templars threatened their solace. Carver had gone his own way when they reached Ferelden; he had not made himself known to his sister since. Aveline, Donnic, and Anders had accompanied them, and upon reaching the crossroads that led to Denerim the ex-guardsmen departed for their new life, anticipating a child much sooner than their counterparts. Anders had only stayed until the house was built and the twins born; despite Phaedra's forgiveness, her brother-in-spirit remained tormented by his actions and Justice's growing hold on him. Once assured that she and the girls were healthy, Anders had left the forest. She had heard nothing since then, and she prayed daily for his peace. As for the others, they had remained on Isabela's new ship to try and draw whatever pursuit remained after the voyage to Amaranthine.

Phaedra regretted that she could do nothing to help her friends now, but a part of her was glad for her helplessness. She had a family of her own now, and if Malcolm was like Leda in displaying magical talent, anonymity was their best chance to survive in these troubled times. She planned to raise her children in much the same fashion she and her siblings had been, and pass her father's teachings on to them.

Even better, she mused with a smile, Fenris was with her.

As if summoned by her thoughts, his long hands smoothed down her sides and encircled her waist, drawing her back against the heat of his body. "Why aren't you in bed?" he murmured against her ear.

Phaedra stretched and looped her arms around his neck, threading her fingers into his hair. "I was just thinking about the others, and our children."

"Shouldn't you be more concerned with your husband?"

She smiled. Their union would never be recognized by the Chantry, because Merril had been talked into marrying them in the Dalish tradition, or at least as close to it as could be managed on a rocking ship. Aside from the vows, one of the only wedding rituals they had been able to perform had been the firing of the marriage bow; Phaedra had held the bow steady, and Fenris had drawn back the string so they released the arrow together, sending it in a soaring arc high above the waves. Merril said it was good fortune for the missile to have flown so far. Her prediction had yet to be proven untrue.

"I kept you warm until you fell asleep. What more do you want?" she asked, relaxing against him with a languid sigh.

"That you allow me to return the favor. Come back to bed, Phaedra."

"Can we keep you and Mother warm, too?" came an unexpected query from the children's room.

"How long have you all been awake?" Fenris asked with a frown.

"Since this morning," Leda replied, giggling.

"You stayed up talking again, didn't you?" Phaedra shook her head in disbelief. Sometimes she was convinced that her children were nocturnal.

"No, Mommy. We played." Malcolm squealed as one of his sisters gave him a pinch.

"Can we sleep with you and Mother, Father? Please?" the twins asked in concert.

Phaedra couldn't help feeling smug as the tables were turned. She had never been able to deny her husband anything, and now he was in a similar position with their children. She mouthed the words along with him as he begrudgingly gave his permission.

They hurried back to their room as the twins let out delighted shrieks and began urging their brother out of bed, slipping beneath the covers after Phaedra doffed her robe. Soon enough the children came pelting down the hall, the girls eagerly shucking their nightclothes and tugging Malcolm out of his.

"You know the rule," Rai'eena admonished him when he protested the night's chill. "You have to be naked in order to sleep in the big bed!"

Phaedra and Fenris shared secret smile at their daughter's words. The girls had caught them in the aftermath of making love once, and when they had asked about their parents' nudity, their father had blurted out what quickly became an accepted family rule.

Fenris pulled his wife across the bed and wrapped his arms about her as the children bounced onto the tick, a necessary precaution against kicking feet. The first few times they had done this, they had kept the children between them. Phaedra had offered to sleep in the middle after being awakened by her husband's sharp inhales and quiet growls of masculine pain.

Their offspring didn't seem to care one way or the other, as long as they could sleep with them. They slid beneath the covers eagerly, jostling and tickling until Phaedra finally ordered them to sleep, her command laced with a thread of magical suggestion.

Shortly thereafter, the children were lost to the Fade. Satisfied, she turned to face her husband and wrapped her arms around him, happy to note that he was smiling.

"Funny how your opinion of magic's use changed after we had children," she teased, knowing her eyes were dancing.

"I value my sleep enough to put some of my aversion aside. Besides, if you weren't such a gifted healer, the twins would have made me completely incapable of giving you Malcolm."

She sighed and nestled close to him, mindful of their son against her back. It was good that he didn't mind her barren womb, although she would have loved to give him a house full of children. His fingers raked softly through her long hair, making her groan quietly. "Fenris, the children."

"They're asleep, and the rest of the house is empty," he replied, his voice pitched deep. "Shall we continue this in another room?"

She was his drug; he had long since admited that he could never get enough of her touch and his hands upon her skin. Phaedra was more than happy to feed his addiction. "Do you think they would mind if we borrowed their room for awhile?"

Fenris laid a kiss against her mouth, a simple caress of his lips. "I think they wouldn't care unless you somehow woke them." Another kiss was given, and he rolled his hips against hers, letting her feel his hardening length. "The question is, can you remain silent?"

Phaedra returned his kiss with urgent hunger, tracing her fingers along the lyrium-gilded line of his spine so he growled low in his chest. "You're on."

Quickly, Fenris rolled out of bed and swept his smirking wife into his arms. She had to stifle her laughter as he practically ran down the hall to the children's room, his jade eyes dark with need.

Maybe she wasn't the Champion of Kirkwall anymore. Maybe half of Thedas would turn her in to the Chantry if they ever caught her. but at least she had a new family with the man she loved, who had made it quite clear he did not blame her for what had been lost.

She smiled and opened her arms to him as he laid her on the twins' bed, wrapping herself around his body while he began to claim her anew.


End file.
